In my previous blog, I shared a story about my meeting with a patient in the CCCU, only a day after I had responded to four Code Blues in succession during an afternoon as the on-call chaplain. She was radiant and in good spirits, full of praise for the medical staff, in particular the personnel in the Emergency Department, and wanted to say thanks to them. It was such a wonderful change of pace to meet with someone who had something GOOD going on, and wanted to share it, that I stepped out of character completely. I’ve written more than once about my difficulty in opening up spiritually to others, but with this lady it was completely natural to grasp her hand in mine and begin praising God spontaneously, for her good fortune. It was only afterward that I realized what a significant step this was for me.
One morning a few weeks later I saw her name pop up again on my list of patients; she’d been gone from my units for some time so I figured she must have had a relapse and needed further treatment for her condition. According to the list, though, she’d been a patient here all along. This didn’t make sense, so I went to see her again not only for continuity but out of genuine concern for her condition. I got a nasty shock when I made the follow-up visit, however:– it seems that not longer after I saw her, she had a stroke which rendered her unable to communicate verbally. She was still fully functional mentally, however. I did not need this explanation from the nurse in order to understand the situation: she was clearly lucid but frustrated by her inability to state what she was thinking. Unable to do anything further in a medical sense, the hospital was transferring her to a rehab clinic that afternoon.
To say I was blindsided is putting it mildly; I was like a little kid facing that big moment when you realize that the world isn’t always (if ever) fair. I felt robbed, almost as if the stroke had attacked ME. How dare this happen? Everything was supposed to be better for both of us; she would go home and live a healthy life, and I would continue to open up to others spiritually. I’d been foolish, I realized, to expect that things would just be hunky dory from the moment our visit ended. Maybe it’s actually a good thing that I was naïve enough to expect that things would continue to improve for this patient. After all, I believe that optimism is essential for both a chaplain AND staff and patients – without hope we can flounder. At the same time, I was concerned that it might affect me in a negative way in my relationships with other patients. Would I begin to see anyone as a potential letdown like this? In retrospect as I write this, I’m amazed and proud at the same time that all these things went through my mind AS I visited with her, as opposed to sitting down and analyzing it later. I immediately began processing these thoughts and cut to the chase – what was the most important thing I wanted to convey to her at that moment? How could I be of help? I took her hand again, looked into her eyes and told her how momentous our visit had been for me personally, admitting that I’ve always had difficulty sharing my spirituality so naturally with people, adding how grateful I was that it had occurred and for that reason I’d never forget her. There were tears in her eyes, but she was already upset by her inability to communicate with the nurse, so I’ve no idea if my words were what caused her emotion, or just the situation as a whole.
I don’t know that this was of help to her beyond letting her know that she made such a deep connection with another person without even realizing it. Because let’s be honest: the words were to help ME. Whether it was what she most needed at the moment, I understand now, looking back, that the chance to tell her what our visit meant was a gift to me. Maybe I should have focused on a prayer of comfort and the strength to be found in her faith? Maybe I could have said a simple prayer of farewell, or a brief blessing for the staff at the rehab clinic who would be working with her. Regardless of the shoulda/woulda/couldas, one thing stands out: this time I didn’t pray because I CHOSE not to – not because I found it too difficult. And, for that reason alone, I hope that what I said IS what she most needed at that moment.
No comments:
Post a Comment